Healing
by gladiator59
Summary: The truth always comes out. This time, she's done playing around. Mini-shot.
1. Part 1

**This was originally for a friend, thought I'd share.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Not many people are lucky enough to know what love is._

Oh, how many times she's heard that line. Even as a kid, she had mocked it.

She's looking at the back-framed screen- a woman, a tiny microphone sticking out her collar, speaking words she's sure she could understand if she paid attention, if she could actually see the woman and not his face.

It's all about that; the pretense.

Pretending, for nearly six years.

She's sitting on her couch, a cushion is missing, and she looks down, at the TV put on the floor, a tall much-needed wine glass now almost down to the last third. Wine makes it better, flooding her brain, which had been thinking way too much. And, because when she allows herself, she can feel his arms around her, the safe haven he creates. If she dares, she can hear laughter and feel pointy tiny doll heels digging into her foot making her want to scream at him for allowing the kids to make a mess.

If she's brave, she can still feel heated kisses and her throat hoarse from passionate moans, and toe-curling passion spreading through her. Instead, all she can feel is the cold. She pulls her robe tighter, as if the fabric can magically bring the missing human heat her body's asking for.

One more night...

She turns off the TV, one eye hugging the lively city. She's absolutely positive; someone will ask for her help. Well, when she stops seeing her picture glued on every news channel. She looks at the apartment. She wants to feel some regret, some attachment to it, but all she can see is blood, and arguments, and cowardice.

"It's all about moving on," she whispers to herself, hearing her therapist's voice more than her own.

Therapist? Six years ago, she would have laughed straight to your face.

She can't do it anymore.

Her life is packed into boxes.

Her photo is out there.

Her secret is out there.

They're out there.

Yet, he still wants her.

No, it wasn't about the secrecy.

She twirls the ring on her finger; in six months you'll call her Mrs. Grant…. And God, she _so_ wants it. It's there for her to grab.

The phone rings. She knows it's him.

 _Hi_.

She laughs, a real one this time.

"All packed?"

"Speech done?"

"Yes, by tomorrow morning they'll know. And the truth this time."

"Good."

"Liv, that-it doesn't matter. Unless you're the First Lady, then I'll stay. No questions asked."

"Two years in the White House? Nah, I'll pass."

She shuts down her eyelids, and he closes his eyes. And he can almost see her start to pace; he needs to change the subject.

 _"One step at a time. Don't dwell." their therapist's voice echoes in his mind._

"All packed?"

"I'm leaving the piano and the couch here."

"You love that piano."

"Not anymore."

"I'll get you another one….and heels."

"You're bad, mister." She's biting on her lip, releasing a nervous, shaky laughter, thighs squeezed firmly.

"I've learned from the best."

She laughs, again. With him, it comes naturally. And sometimes, it scares her that someone could know her _that well_.

But he does, and she usually runs.

But now, now it all changes.


	2. Part 2

**A little bonus to finish off...if you're a Mellie stan you won't like it. I have to admit my thoughts are/were a mess as I haven't watched the show in a long time but I want Olivia to fight back and found myself with this. This comes before the first shot.**

* * *

The walls are a cream, soothing color. But all she can think about is how it is made to make you feel comfortable; to have you let your guard down to eventually open up.

Most of the time she's there, there's a part- a fighting side of her that's wondering how she went from being the one being confessed to, to the one confessing and desperate to have her life back in order. Acknowledging that the dam broke was always the hardest thing. She feels like she's been hit by a tornado; her life a million bits and pieces spread all over the place, the overflow near to impossible to contain. Long gone was the neat pile she had worked so hard to keep secure and safe, away from prying eyes and hushed whispers.

She can feel the blue eyes weighing on her, and there's not one bit of judgment in them, just like there's no compassion. She feels like she's staring at a blank canvas, waiting for the criticism she got used to throughout the years to fall on her. After all, everyone, even people who shouldn't have a say gave their unsolicited inputs through side looks and disapproving looks and name-calling. Slut, whore, shame,... she could build a temple with the roaring and insults. She knew the consequences and fallouts, and was well aware of the living hell she would be put through and laughter from many enemies.. but as long as she had him, it would be ok. She knew- he was enough. She- they would be fine. Boy, was it a hard adjustment. The modern version of a walk of shame.

She bites her lip; nails digging at her palm, otherwise the eerie calm makes her want to scream. She's waiting, expecting, but there's nothing, not a sound in the room, only the slight ticking of the small clock annoying her. Yet, she's used to reading people, using their features against them, she knows how to play her game, and here… nothing.

It's been a _nothing_ for a few years now.

 _Why do you feel like you've taken something from her?_

They're still discussing her- Mellie. Still trying to figure out why she suddenly goes mute, why she loses herself and while she can easily backfire at her, because –and she always bitterly chuckles at the thought- there are many, many things she can build up her defense with- that's what her law school debate team years as a captain were supposed to be about, that's what years of hard work are there for. And still...nothing.

"Olivia, why do you feel like you _owe_ her something?"

Olivia looks at the shiny rock sitting on her therapist's finger, ready to stall, drag the issue away from her, get the coping mechanism going, "It's obvious you're married, you have that smile, the way you look at your desk drawer, I can only guess that that fond but quick occasional glance is at some family picture. The perfect dream sold to any little girl. But let me ask you, if you found out your husband of well over a decade was cheating on you, what would you do?"

"This is not about me."

"Well, this is not about me either."

She sees the woman close her pad, put her glasses on the table nearby and the staring match starts again. A contest if you will. She likes that shade of blue, but it's almost too rich and too pale to even consider painting their-

"If you must know, his ass would be served with a divorce petition."

"You'd give up on your husband, the father of your children that easily?"

"It's not about giving up on him, Olivia. It's about trust. If he can break his vows to me, how can I even stand sleeping on the other side of the same bed as him? How can I even look him in the eyes knowing what he's doing behind my back? It's about respect. It's about loyalty. It's about love. I would have too much respect for my own self, to want to stay with a man like that. It's not about giving up. It's about fighting for a better life. And my children would deserve so much more than the household they'd grow in if I was a coward enough to stay."

There's silence. But not the weighing kind. More like the one that screams I'm-sorting-my-own-shit type of silence.

Her teeth crazy the inside of her cheek, her eyes darting to some imaginary point, "I've had so many clients cheating on their wives, desperate for a quiet, easy, discreet divorce. And the irony is, I'd give their wives the same sort of speech and I would see a rising flame in them, a flame yearning to do better, to be better and dedicate their lives to something worth it. Make a difference. I'd throw the kids in to seal the deal. And it's been almost seven years and you'd think him serving her with divorce papers would have stopped that bulls- situation, vicious circle, name calling and accusations… yet, she's still clinging… stupid excuses…the "mistress" and the "you owe me".."

And she's silent again. That same small part of her chastising her for even talking, for giving up pieces of her life, of their life, and throwing them in the open when-

"Do you even know what a mistress is, Olivia? What a mistress is, today? Because I'd like you to change, work on your viewpoint. Words put in some context can completely change in meaning. Step out of the box and think differently."

She snorts, more in a defeated way, "He's the very married President, cheating on his wife with me, I'm the mistress. That's how they see it, that's how they perceive it, and we all know all the truth in the world won't beat a good, juicy gossip to chew on. It's like playing roles, and you just suck it up. No matter what I'd do, I'm the one who made him cheat, I'm the temptress, I'm the devil, the home-wrecker... "

"Stop right there. They don't leave their wives Olivia, and they sure don't own it. An affair stays in, behind closed doors and you don't dare take it out, expose it to the open. That's what makes it an affair, when you hide it from your spouse, because when they know it's a game over. The secrecy would have been easy, especially with an arm candy willing to keep it all in and build up appearances. He could have done it, stayed in an arranged, comfortable marriage, a wife who doesn't give a crap about his indiscretions but he didn't. He won't, he said it himself. He's unbelievably honest when it comes to you, and when he comes with you; he's an open book. That doesn't qualify as an affair, you don't qualify as a mistress."

"He's still married."

"You sure do know why."

It doesn't come out as an accusation although she wants to make it like one. Yet, she knows she's merely stating a fact but it sounds like she's holding it against her.

"It wasn't that simple."

"It can be if you want to. Don't let her degrade you. You know your facts; use them. You're giving her power over you, you have the power to change that. It can be simple if you fight back, it would scare her. Nothing scares someone like her more than a lover willing to bite the bullet and fight for love."

 _It can be._

* * *

"You! I hate you. I despise you," an angry Mellie spats as soon as the door closes.

"Mellie…"

"Don't you dare.." Mellie retorts, "you agreed to stay away, you agreed to help me, you said you knew what was best for us all…. but you, you only think about yourself. You think being First Lady is simple? I dare you to try, shake hands, kiss asses for him, be sympathetic for those nasty, dirty kids, ugh God, it's just so… and don't forget to smile. Smile, smile, smile. How did he put it again? Oh, yes, be ornamental. The small, little doting wife who stands in the shadows. But you… you… you are Olivia Pope, the greatest, the one who can't get her hands dirty enough for the greater good when it comes to being shadowed, I dare you to try." Mellie pauses, catching her breath, fanning a scarlet red face with shaky fingers, before readjusting her handbag, "you and I, we can do what he can't, what he doesn't have half the guts for. You want him? Gladly, you would be doing me a favor, but this divorce nonsense… I won't tolerate that, I gave up too much, I've even had kids for that man to just walk away and let you have a go at what I've worked so hard for," Mellie fishes some papers out of the bag, handing them over, "you tell him… I don't even care what you tell him… but you can make him change, you always make him change."

Olivia eyed the documents, it would be easy, convincing him they could wait another two years, that she would wait for him, protect his legacy… let him finish his term and let herself disappear from the public eye… being First Lady never appealed to her but not for Mellie's said reasons, the conflict of interest she saw in being First Lady was too great to ignore… she could pick a cause and work on it for whatever time he had left in office but it was too short on time especially while dealing with Mellie. Plus, she was too tired to fight him again. Especially on something she couldn't even sell to herself.

"No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"I'm not convincing him of anything, if you want something out of him you'd better ask him yourself. I'm not your messenger anymore, Mellie."

"How dare you… you owe me!"

Olivia scoffed, almost rolling her eyes at the answers she knew like the back of her hand. "What exactly do I owe you, Mellie? The husband you're desperately clinging to? the role I basically brought to you? What exactly do I owe you, Mellicent?"

Mellie gasped, almost inaudibly, this wasn't how it was supposed to be. Mellie crossed her arms, readying herself for more than she had originally bargained for, "You really don't want to cross me. I can destroy you, make you look like the biggest whore to grace Earth, I can grit my teeth and lie, lie, lie. As much as I want. I'll burry you, I have the people's sympathy now. Hell, I can even make him look like the poor husband, going through life crisis who got caught into your deceiving ways, you charmed him, after all we had just lost a child during the campaign... You're done, Olivia."

"Oh, you're talking about the child who never existed? Don't act surprised, you know he tells me everything- you can drag me. Actually, I am the one daring you to do that, drag me and I can assure you, you'll regret it. I made you Mellie, I made you which means I know exactly where to dig dirt and mind you I did that for years, you won't beat me at my own game; you were nothing," for a moment, she stops, looking Mellie dead in the eyes, determined to be finish before she looses it, before the coursing courage wears off, "You two weren't even what one would describe as a viable candidate for Presidency. I can make everything rise up; Mosley, the pregnancy that never happened, the affairs throughout the years, Nichols, forged documents, and that's not even a fraction of it. I have nothing to lose. Nothing. People might look at me as a whore for sleeping with one married man, so imagines how they'll look at you, the First Lady. Their expectations are not the same. Even pretending to be the dotting mother and wife won't save your ass. You can't always lie, can you? Especially when proof is out there. If you want something from the man who's been trying to divorce you for years, I suggest you 'work hard' for it," she finishes in a seething, barely controlled voice.

Olivia takes her purse, leaving a shocked Mellie staring at the ground, the reddened face void from any color. She opens the door, and her back hits the wall the second she heard it lock back, letting out a shaky breath, gathering herself from the vanishing anger. She takes a few calming breaths, fighting the aftermath of fading adrenaline, replenishing the dangerously low supply of air in her system. It's a weird feeling; on one hand all she wants to do is let herself crumble from sheer exhaustion, and on the other, she can feel the goose bump forming everywhere as the tingling feeling of unleashing years of unspoken frustration, turned into undeniable wrath.

* * *

The same night, she's sitting on what has become their bed, thinking about Vermont and their shared dreams of a blissful life together, about putting her condo on the market and never having to step a foot in that place, all she wants is for the nightmare to finally be over. For some sense of normalcy to fall back into place, for them to establish a routine, a life away from prying eyes. The beginning of emotional freedom.

She's too absorbed by her thoughts, fighting for her resolve to stand, she doesn't hear him come in, untie his tie and kick his shoes off, a look of bewildered concern all over his face as he makes a beeline towards her. His hand softly cupping her chin for a kiss breaks her thinking process.

"What did you do? What did you say to her? How did you do it?" he asks, raising a mini stack of document to her view-line.

"She really signed them?"

He nods, pushing the paper, two signatures lined up, neatly lined up above the dotted lines. It was perfect. Divorce was done and over with, they had split belongings. It was just done. Mellicent was completely, definitely out of their lives.

"So, what did you do?"

She smiles, "Fought back."


End file.
